Victory, Virtue, and a Promise
by hptriviachamp
Summary: "I need you to promise me one thing. Promise me that you will never think of me the way your dad thought of my mom-," Amy says, and he can see how troubled her gaze is. "I can't- I can't deal with that-" her voice cracks a little, and she adds shakily "-and I don't think I could bear to disappoint you." *Written for the Writers Anonymous Holiday Challenge*


**Victory, Virtue, and a Promise  
** _Written for the Writers Anonymous Holiday Challenge_

Cairo has been a rather futile endeavor. It's hot, dry, and Amy keeps finding sand in all sorts of unaccommodating places on her body, as well as in her bag.

Luckily, there is a safehouse in the city, one she plans to make full use of for the night, before departing for Boston the next morning.

What she doesn't expect on entering the rather dingy, dimly lit apartment is to see Ian Kabra brandishing obviously the only potential weapon he could find: a broom.

"How did you find me?" are the first words out of Amy's mouth. She wonders whether she should hold her backpack in front of her should the need to defend herself arise.

Ian's eyes are narrowed when he shoots back,"I believe the appropriate question here is how did _you_ find me?"

The two maintain eye contact for a few tense moments before this entire situation strikes Amy are too ridiculous to continue.

She sighs. "Put your broom down, Ian, and let me in. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

He does as she says, but continues to look at her skeptically, as though waiting for her to produce ninja stars from her pocket to throw at him or something.

(That's more of Dan's specialty, to be honest).

"You do realize we're technically enemies now, right?" He asks her even as he lets her in so that she can survey the rather dismal surroundings. The apartment has only the bare necessities: a bathroom, a gas stove, a chair and table, and a bed.

She scoffs at Ian's question. "Didn't stop you from making out with me on my grandma's porch last year."

"Touché, but it still doesn't explain why you're here."

She rolls her eyes as she throws her bag down on the floor, and turns to face Ian.

"I was on a mission in Cairo, and someone told me about this safehouse. I didn't realize it would be occupied," she adds pointedly.

Ian's face falls slightly, as he moves towards where his own bag had been tossed carelessly in the corner.

"Well I best be off then," he says, "if you're commandeering the place for the night."

Amy looks at him incredulously. "You don't think I'm about to kick you out, do you?"

"No…?"

"It's Christmas," she shrugs, as if that should explain everything.

"So a Christmas Truce sort of deal?"

"I love how you manage to pretentiously slip in a history reference in hopes I won't get it," Amy snarks.

"And I love how you always do," Ian returns fondly.

She can't really say anything to that except a rather idiotic "oh".

It's an old game from their childhood- who can outsmart the other. And university hasn't helped in matters either, since both of them inadvertently majored in some form of literature and history.

"Who told you about this place?" Ian asks as they both begin to unpack their meager belongings side by side.

"William McIntyre- he said even Grace knows nothing about it."

Ian's brows furrow slightly in a way Amy finds… rather adorable. "Funny, Erasmus Yilmaz told me the same thing about this safehouse."

"What are you doing talking to Ekats?"

"You know what they say," Ian waves an airy hand, "strategic allies, in peace friends, and all that."

"Ian Kabra," Amy says delightedly, "did you quote the Declaration of Independence?"

"And my ancestors are rolling in their grave as I speak."

"It's rather convenient though, isn't it?" Ian muses a few minutes later. He's checking the room for bugs, while Amy figures she might as well heat their dinner (the extent of her cooking talents) on the small stove that's in questionable condition.

"Maybe they decided to do a little Christmas meddling?" Amy speculates, internally grinning at the image of the two of them plotting over a fireplace with large mugs of eggnog.

"I never figured two old men to be the type."

"Please, McIntyre was always secretly a softie, and Erasmus probably is as well."

Ian snorts.

Amy is poking around the stove, trying to figure out the best way to turn it on without resorting to something drastic, when she finds a sliding panel on one side.

Her first instinct is to run- perhaps it's a trap- but the more logical aspect of her mind tells her that this is a _Cahill_ safehouse. Nobody who was in here would want to cause them harm.

So she moves the panel aside, and it reveals two yellowing sheets of paper.

They're letters, dated twenty-five years ago.

Amy's gaze slides over the fading words on both pages, when she notices who they're addressed to.

"Hey Ian?" Amy calls. "You might want to see this."

Ian immediately appears at her side, and his eyes narrow when presented with the old papers.

"They're not a trap, are they?" He checks with her.

"No, but you might want to read them.

Ian takes one from her and begins to read, while Amy looks through the other.

 _Dear Vikram,_ the first one begins.

 _You'll never guess how I figured you'd be here right now- I'll give you a hint: it involves my favorite tea house, a shady back alley, and our least favorite Mossad agent.  
_ _Anyway, the point is, I pieced it together, so I could send this to you just in time for Christmas.  
_ _Merry Christmas, by the way!  
_ _Do you remember that Christmas in Budapest, when you and I ran into each other- funny how that always seems to happen, doesn't it? I never apologized for leaving without saying goodbye the next morning.  
_ _I was just remembering it the other day.  
_ _I can't discuss what's going on with me now- confidential information and all that, but it's lonely here in Ankara to be honest, and I sometimes wonder if this is even worth it. Everything seems to be a lie, and if it isn't, I doubt that it's the truth anyway.  
_ _I even pray sometimes to fill the gaps, although I hardly have much to ask God for these days- perhaps more presence of mind. Do you believe in God, Vikram?  
_ _Mom always insisted I go to midnight mass with her at St. J's, but even then, I'd mostly doze off, or count the number of kids who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.  
_ _Anyway, don't mind my half-crazed musings- sometimes I think these letters are the only things that keep me sane.  
_ _Once again, Merry Christmas!  
_ _Don't forget to burn this letter._

 _Love,  
_ _Hope_

The second letter is far more damning than the first.

 _Dearest Hope,_

 _I am sure I can imagine exactly what occurred in that alley- really Hope? Ari Fleischer? Who knows what that man would do to you. He is, after all, a very loyal Lucian, no matter how I feel about him.  
_ _Happy Christmas to you too.  
_ _I understand that you cannot discuss your current mission- it's not like I can discuss much either. The fact that you even found out where I was is technically considered a breach (something I am sure you knew all along, and took great delight in doing, if I have any understanding of your character).  
_ _And as for your query about whether I believe in God- no, I don't. I stopped having faith in an imaginary entity a long time ago, when I realized how easy it was to get hurt.  
_ _However, I will say this: I don't believe in God, but I believe in you. Not just in your ability to succeed in this mission, but everything about you- how you manage to stay strong in the worst of circumstances, your courage, persistence, your inherent goodness and ability to see the best in us when hardly anyone else can-  
_ _Sometimes I wonder if you are even real; Whether you're human, or an angel.  
_ _Whatever you may be, I know this: you are far too good for me.  
_ _Forgive my maudlin thoughts.  
_ _I won't send this to you now- not when it's dangerous to send correspondence for me as well as you. When you are finished in Ankara, I will deliver this in person.  
_ _What happens next is up to you._

 _With all my love,  
_ _Vikram_

The implications of these letters is clear- not only was Hope Cahill engaging in correspondence with Vikram Kabra for several years, but Vikram was once upon a time hopelessly and irrevocably in love-

With the _idea_ of Hope.

"He idolized her," Amy says softly when she finally looks up after reading bother letters repeatedly, trying to make sense of something she fundamentally could not bring herself to. "That sort of great expectation in a relationship… it would never have ended well."

"He called her an angel," Ian murmurs, perusing through the letters. "I never knew my father was capable of… of such…"

Somewhere outside, she hears the _muezzin_ call for evening prayers in his loud, lilting voice.

"I need you to promise me one thing," Amy says suddenly. There is an urgency to her tone that makes him look up from the letters.

"Promise me that you will _never_ think of me the way your dad thought of my mom-," Amy says, and he can see how troubled her gaze is. "I can't- I can't deal with that-" her voice cracks a little, and she adds shakily "-and I don't think I could bear to disappoint you."

"You could never disappoint me-" Ian begins but is cut off by Amy.

"See!" She says sharply, "you think I'm some great-"

"I _know_ who you are," he says firmly, "just the way you know who I am. You're not an angel, Amy, and I will never think of you that way. You're real- flesh and blood just the way I am- nothing more, nothing less."

"You know," she says quietly after a moment of teary silence, "you telling me I'm _not_ an angel is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

Ian reaches to brush an errant tear on her cheek aside. "And I thought," he murmurs teasingly, "our little conversation last year was the height of romance."

Amy lets out a choked laugh at that, but then sobers immediately. "What we talked about last year… does that still stand?"

He looks at her curiously, as though he's wondering why she should even have to ask that question- not when his devotion to her has remained steadfast all these years, not when her devotion to him has continued unwavered, because she lo-

Not now.

For now, all that matters is that his hand catches hers and he runs her thumb across her wrist in a comforting motion, and he says only this:

"Always."

* * *

Later in the night, they're both lying together in the single bed, their hands touching one another, and their legs intertwined.

They're mostly silent- all the words that needed to be said have been said. Everything that needed to be done has been done.

It's just them now.

"It's midnight," Ian whispers shifting slightly to check his watch, and even in the dark, he can feel the warmth of her smile.

"Merry Christmas, Ian." Her hand slides into his.

"Happy Christmas to you too."

"Amy?" He says after a moment.

"Hmm?" She asks drowsily.

"When I wake up, you won't leave me, will you?"

"No, no I won't."

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed that fic :)_

 _The title is based on Vikram and Hope's names. Vikram means victorious or valorous in Sanskrit, and Hope is one of the Seven Christian Virtues._

 _ **The conversation on the porch that they keep referencing can be found in Chapter 5 of my collection of oneshots called "Snippets"**_

 _The "Christmas Truce" refers to a series of widespread but unofficial ceasefires along the Western Front of World War I around Christmas 1914. Soldiers even crossed trench lines and played soccer and exchanged small gifts- it was good times._

 _The reference to the Declaration of Independence is the phrase "in peace friends"._


End file.
